This week's dadlosophy is a bit different. Rather than sitting at my own kitchen table, in my office, or at the local coffee shop, I'm sitting in a room full of fellow bloggers at Atlanta's WXIA television studio. No, I haven't been called here to be interviewed on live television (hard to believe they would miss such an opportunity, I know). Nope, I've been invited to participate in a blog off.
What is a blog off? Well, it basically involves a bunch of mommy and daddy bloggers sitting around and blogging about our parental lives. After an hour and a half, judges will come around, read our blogs, and judge us. What happens if our blog falls flat? Personally, I think the losers should have to take the winners' kids for a week. Now that's a blog off!
We've been given several topics we can choose from. Topic one, My Scariest Moment as a parent. That's kind of like blogging about my goofiest moment as a teenager. Too many to choose from--next topic.
Next, How My Child Surprised Me. Again, hard to narrow down. Throw in the fact that many of those "surprising moments" nearly resulted in my needing therapy, caused me to have a life-threatening rise in blood pressure, or cost me enough money to bring tears to my eyes, and I'm pretty certain that I don't care to relive any of them again for fear that it may lead to the need for some really expensive medications. Pass.
The topic I've chosen is HOW I FIRST REALIZED MY PARENTING STYLE. Hmmm... interesting question. First of all, what is a parenting style? I'm not totally sure. Haven't really thought about it before. I would describe what I have as more of a parenting philosophy. I realized pretty early on that it is important to be my kids' dad, not their buddy. Don't get me wrong, I love hanging out with my kids and having fun together. I get a kick out of playing games, wrestling on the living room floor, throwing the ball in the backyard, and doing silly dances with my daughter to whatever is playing on the kitchen radio. But, at the end of the day, what my kids need most from me is leadership, not another pal.
I can't necessarily think of one moment at which I came face-to-face with this realization. Rather, it's more like a series of moments that continue to occur. Take, for instance, the other night. The kids and I had just finished dinner and were engaged in one of our fairly common post-meal wrestling smack downs. They were winning, but they also cheat. They call for Mommy every time Daddy starts to win. Anyway, they were laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves when my supervisor (a.k.a., Mommy) walked in and announced, "Okay everyone, time for bed." Noticing that the kids didn't seem to notice, Meredith gave it another go. "Did you guys hear me? I said the wrestling match is over, time for baths and bed." This time, my kiddos jumped up and proceeded running around the house, thinking that it would be funny to tease mommy.
It's at moments like these that a parent has to ask him or herself a question: What do my kids need me to be right now? The answer (as I see it)is AUTHORITY FIGURE. Not that my wife wasn't more than capable of corralling this rowdy herd of little Howards, but since I was the one who'd gotten them so wound up, I felt that I needed to be the one to reel 'em back in. I stood up and, in a calm but firm voice, called my kids. Realizing Dad meant business, Emerson, William, and Carson, stopped their running and, still smiling, made their way into the living room. Were they scared of me? No. Did they know Daddy was serious? Yes. They could tell that Daddy had just flipped the switch. I had transitioned out of "let's have fun" mode into "Authoritative Leader" mode. After apologizing to Mommy, my kids went upstairs.
That's a good illustration of my parenting style/philosophy. In a word, it's leadership. More specifically, CONFIDENT LEADERSHIP. I believe kids need parents to be comfortable in their role as an authority figure. Sadly, many parents today don't feel confident. They feel that they are doing something wrong or destructive by being in charge. But kids need direction. They need firmness. They need discipline (which entails a lot more than punishment). And, yes, they need Mom and Dad to decide for them what is best--at least when they're as young as my kids.
Be confident leaders Moms and Dads. Be comfortable being in charge. Believe it or not, your kids want you to clearly define the boundaries. They don't need an adult buddy, and you shouldn't over concern yourself with whether or not your kids always like you. Nope, in fact, being a good parent often means loving your kids enough to let them NOT like you for a while. The coolest part is that, if you do fulfill your authoritative role, you'll probably find that your kids are so secure and happy that you're all having more than enough fun to go around. And that's a pretty good prize too, even if some blogger won't take your kids for a week.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Your Child's Greatest Need
Last Friday, I arrived home after a long day at a seminar in Atlanta. I'd left early in the morning, before my wife and kids were up, and returned roughly around dinner time. As I pulled into the drive, my children rushed to the car to meet me. They were excited to see Dad and immediately started bombarding me with information. I was glad to see my kids. I gave them all hugs and listened with "fascination" as William described how he'd skateboarded down the sidewalk without falling and Emerson shared about the sleepover she'd been invited to that weekend.
As my little paparazzi followed me, begging for my attention and expecting me to stop, I slowly kept moving as I said things like, "Really?... That's wonderful, Buddy..." and, "Sounds awesome, Emerson..."
Entering the house, I found my wife, Meredith, cooking dinner. She was wearing a sweatshirt and pajama pants. Her hair was pulled back in her customary "mommy pony tail." It was obvious from her appearance that she'd been tending to household responsibilities and kids all day. In other words, she looked beautiful as always.
It's then that I did the most important thing any father can do when he gets home at the end of the day. I turned to my children (whom I dearly love) and said, "Guys, I want all of you to go outside and play while Daddy and Mommy talk for ten minutes." That's right; I sent my children away so that I could have a few moments alone with my wife.
Why? What deep thing did I need to discuss with Meredith? What important issue demanded that we talk right away without the kids around? Absolutely nothing. The fact of the matter was, I just wanted to see my wife and have some time alone with her. I hadn't seen her all day, and I wanted to find out how she was doing.
Often, when I write 'Dadlosophies,' I make reference to how important it is that we spend time with our kids and not let the concerns of life crowd out what's most important--our families. I especially think that this is valuable advice for dads, who are often busy pursuing careers and have a tendency to define themselves by what they do for a living. We're usually the ones who can most easily make the mistake of defining what it means to provide for our families in material rather than spiritual, emotional, and developmental terms.
But even parents devoted to spending time with their children can fall into a dangerous and potentially destructive pattern (destructive for the marriage and the kids, themselves). If not careful, our homes can become kid-centric rather than marriage-centric. One of the dangerous trends I often see developing in families is when our households all-to-easily end up revolving around the children instead of the marriage. Before we know it, we parents wake up and realize we've become mommy and daddy first and husband and wife second. Mom's life is more about caring for the kids than being what her husband needs. Dad comes home and immediately engages the children rather than first making sure his wife is okay and connecting with her.
Here's the deal: Your child's greatest need (outside of a relationship with God) is a strong, loving marriage between Mommy and Daddy. Nothing--ABSOLUTELY NOTHING--makes a child feel safer and more secure than seeing that Mommy loves Daddy more than anything or anybody, and absolutely no one (not even his own child) holds a candle to Mommy in Daddy's heart. As my new friend and nationally renowned parenting expert, John Rosemond, puts it: "Mommy and Daddy HAVE A RELATIONSHIP with their child, but they are IN A RELATIONSHIP with one another." Translation: I'm my wife's husband first and my kids' dad second. Meredith is my wife first and my kids' mommy second. Our home must revolve around our relationship as husband and wife, not our kids' schooling, extracurricular activities, children's "needs" (which often are just wants), and so on.
Yes, I take time every day to spend with my children. Of course there are times when the kids get and even require our full attention. But Meredith is number one. In fact, it's no contest. When Meredith is talking to me, the kids know that they are not to interrupt. When I come home at the end of the day, I want to (and will) see my wife first. I'll take some time to play with my kids, but not until after I get quality time with Mommy. And when there is an issue that involves disobedience or requires discipline, the kids know that Mommy and Daddy stand united. We back each other up and trust each other's judgment. Trying to play us against one another is a crucial and, as my children have learned, potentially fanny-painful error.
Does that mean Meredith and I always agree? No. But we act like we do in front of the kids, then discuss any differences of opinion behind closed doors. In short, the most important relationship in the home is NOT parent-child, it's husband-wife. Our children are NOT the center of the household universe, Mommy and Daddy are.
What about your home? Is it kid-centric or marriage-centric? Does your kids' world revolve around your marriage, or do you and your spouse continually neglect each other because of the kids' activities, the children's "needs," or some unhealthy cultural standard you've bought into that erroneously suggests your worth as a parent is gauged by how much time you devote to your children or how much you've helped them accomplish in comparison to other kids?
If your kids are the center of things, then you're setting them up for failure. What happens when they get out in the real world and are met with the harsh realization that things don't revolve around them? What happens when your child, who is used to being waited on, catered to, or given precedence over everybody and everything gets married one day and is disappointed to learn that his or her spouse falls short of adequately "meeting their needs?" Can you say 'divorce after only a year or two of marriage?'
Nope, best thing you can give your kids is a strong marriage and a sober realization that they aren't the main player. Trust me, they'll be more secure and comfortable in that role, and it will provide them with a good, realistic assessment of themselves. One that will better equip them to interact with others, have strong relationships, and do well in life once all is said and done.
And moms, don't buy the lie that the best mothers pour tons of time and attention into their kids. No, the best moms are the ones who teach their kids to be people of character, to care about others, and to fend for themselves because they'll have to in the real world. This means occasionally REFUSING to do for your children, insisting they solve certain problems on their own, requiring them to do some chores around the house, not being afraid to lead and discipline your kids, and sometimes reminding your precious little angels that they aren't anything special rather than constantly shining a spotlight on every little thing they do as if it were some earth-shattering accomplishment. (A dose of humility will serve kids well, don't you think?)
So parents, show your kids some love. Send them away while you hug each other, kiss each other, compliment each other, and ask each other about your days. Chances are, there's a little kiddo who'll be peeking in, smiling, and feeling happy and secure in the knowledge that Mommy and Daddy love each other more than anyone else in the world--even the kids.
* THIS PAST WEEKEND, I SPENT TIME WITH PARENTING EXPERT, JOHN ROSEMOND. WHILE I HAVE LONG HELD THE CONVICTION THAT THE MOST IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIP IN ANY FAMILY IS THE MARRIAGE AND PUTTING THE KIDS BEFORE A SPOUSE CAN BE EXTREMELY DETRIMENTAL, MUCH OF WHAT JOHN HAD TO SAY SERVED AS A GOOD WAKE UP CALL TO REASSESS HOW I'M DOING IN THIS AREA. I CHOSE TO FOCUS ON THIS SUBJECT THIS WEEK IN LARGE PART TO SOME OF HIS REMINDERS. THANKS, JOHN.
As my little paparazzi followed me, begging for my attention and expecting me to stop, I slowly kept moving as I said things like, "Really?... That's wonderful, Buddy..." and, "Sounds awesome, Emerson..."
Entering the house, I found my wife, Meredith, cooking dinner. She was wearing a sweatshirt and pajama pants. Her hair was pulled back in her customary "mommy pony tail." It was obvious from her appearance that she'd been tending to household responsibilities and kids all day. In other words, she looked beautiful as always.
It's then that I did the most important thing any father can do when he gets home at the end of the day. I turned to my children (whom I dearly love) and said, "Guys, I want all of you to go outside and play while Daddy and Mommy talk for ten minutes." That's right; I sent my children away so that I could have a few moments alone with my wife.
Why? What deep thing did I need to discuss with Meredith? What important issue demanded that we talk right away without the kids around? Absolutely nothing. The fact of the matter was, I just wanted to see my wife and have some time alone with her. I hadn't seen her all day, and I wanted to find out how she was doing.
Often, when I write 'Dadlosophies,' I make reference to how important it is that we spend time with our kids and not let the concerns of life crowd out what's most important--our families. I especially think that this is valuable advice for dads, who are often busy pursuing careers and have a tendency to define themselves by what they do for a living. We're usually the ones who can most easily make the mistake of defining what it means to provide for our families in material rather than spiritual, emotional, and developmental terms.
But even parents devoted to spending time with their children can fall into a dangerous and potentially destructive pattern (destructive for the marriage and the kids, themselves). If not careful, our homes can become kid-centric rather than marriage-centric. One of the dangerous trends I often see developing in families is when our households all-to-easily end up revolving around the children instead of the marriage. Before we know it, we parents wake up and realize we've become mommy and daddy first and husband and wife second. Mom's life is more about caring for the kids than being what her husband needs. Dad comes home and immediately engages the children rather than first making sure his wife is okay and connecting with her.
Here's the deal: Your child's greatest need (outside of a relationship with God) is a strong, loving marriage between Mommy and Daddy. Nothing--ABSOLUTELY NOTHING--makes a child feel safer and more secure than seeing that Mommy loves Daddy more than anything or anybody, and absolutely no one (not even his own child) holds a candle to Mommy in Daddy's heart. As my new friend and nationally renowned parenting expert, John Rosemond, puts it: "Mommy and Daddy HAVE A RELATIONSHIP with their child, but they are IN A RELATIONSHIP with one another." Translation: I'm my wife's husband first and my kids' dad second. Meredith is my wife first and my kids' mommy second. Our home must revolve around our relationship as husband and wife, not our kids' schooling, extracurricular activities, children's "needs" (which often are just wants), and so on.
Yes, I take time every day to spend with my children. Of course there are times when the kids get and even require our full attention. But Meredith is number one. In fact, it's no contest. When Meredith is talking to me, the kids know that they are not to interrupt. When I come home at the end of the day, I want to (and will) see my wife first. I'll take some time to play with my kids, but not until after I get quality time with Mommy. And when there is an issue that involves disobedience or requires discipline, the kids know that Mommy and Daddy stand united. We back each other up and trust each other's judgment. Trying to play us against one another is a crucial and, as my children have learned, potentially fanny-painful error.
Does that mean Meredith and I always agree? No. But we act like we do in front of the kids, then discuss any differences of opinion behind closed doors. In short, the most important relationship in the home is NOT parent-child, it's husband-wife. Our children are NOT the center of the household universe, Mommy and Daddy are.
What about your home? Is it kid-centric or marriage-centric? Does your kids' world revolve around your marriage, or do you and your spouse continually neglect each other because of the kids' activities, the children's "needs," or some unhealthy cultural standard you've bought into that erroneously suggests your worth as a parent is gauged by how much time you devote to your children or how much you've helped them accomplish in comparison to other kids?
If your kids are the center of things, then you're setting them up for failure. What happens when they get out in the real world and are met with the harsh realization that things don't revolve around them? What happens when your child, who is used to being waited on, catered to, or given precedence over everybody and everything gets married one day and is disappointed to learn that his or her spouse falls short of adequately "meeting their needs?" Can you say 'divorce after only a year or two of marriage?'
Nope, best thing you can give your kids is a strong marriage and a sober realization that they aren't the main player. Trust me, they'll be more secure and comfortable in that role, and it will provide them with a good, realistic assessment of themselves. One that will better equip them to interact with others, have strong relationships, and do well in life once all is said and done.
And moms, don't buy the lie that the best mothers pour tons of time and attention into their kids. No, the best moms are the ones who teach their kids to be people of character, to care about others, and to fend for themselves because they'll have to in the real world. This means occasionally REFUSING to do for your children, insisting they solve certain problems on their own, requiring them to do some chores around the house, not being afraid to lead and discipline your kids, and sometimes reminding your precious little angels that they aren't anything special rather than constantly shining a spotlight on every little thing they do as if it were some earth-shattering accomplishment. (A dose of humility will serve kids well, don't you think?)
So parents, show your kids some love. Send them away while you hug each other, kiss each other, compliment each other, and ask each other about your days. Chances are, there's a little kiddo who'll be peeking in, smiling, and feeling happy and secure in the knowledge that Mommy and Daddy love each other more than anyone else in the world--even the kids.
* THIS PAST WEEKEND, I SPENT TIME WITH PARENTING EXPERT, JOHN ROSEMOND. WHILE I HAVE LONG HELD THE CONVICTION THAT THE MOST IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIP IN ANY FAMILY IS THE MARRIAGE AND PUTTING THE KIDS BEFORE A SPOUSE CAN BE EXTREMELY DETRIMENTAL, MUCH OF WHAT JOHN HAD TO SAY SERVED AS A GOOD WAKE UP CALL TO REASSESS HOW I'M DOING IN THIS AREA. I CHOSE TO FOCUS ON THIS SUBJECT THIS WEEK IN LARGE PART TO SOME OF HIS REMINDERS. THANKS, JOHN.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Life's Hectic--Take a Break
Life's hectic. There's work, life's daily odds and ends, marriage, and--if you are as blessed as Meredith and I--the parental bliss of children all requiring an adult's time and energy.
As a freelance writer, I'm constantly either engrossed in a project or immersed in the pursuit of the next available job. I don't have the security that comes with knowing an employer is depositing a paycheck every 2 weeks. Nope, I don't make any money until jobs are done. Oh, and did I mention that there are no jobs unless I go out and round 'em up? Given that my family has grown accustomed to eating, living in a house, and using electricity pretty much every day, you can imagine how much work and the pursuit thereof can--if left unchecked--totally dominate my schedule.
In addition, Meredith and I just learned last week that we have officially been approved to adopt twin boys from Ethiopia. They're 4 1/2 months old and handsome little guys (nice to know they'll fit right in). But with all the joy and excitement that comes with knowing our family is about to expand, there also comes additional worries about finances, the future, and how to be a dad to five children. At times, I'm tempted to feel overwhelmed. One minute I'm looking at my new sons' pictures and thinking, "This is SO cool!" The next I'm sitting on the corner of the bed, rubbing my temples and trying desperately to go to my "happy place."
Just the other day I experienced such an anxious moment. I was working from home, running late on a deadline and thinking about the huge check I was about to write for our adoptions. The instability of our finances and the uncertainty of our future combined with the demands of work almost left me paralyzed. "What's the use?" I thought. "I just can't do it all. There's no way."
That's when my 3-year-old, Carson, came wandering into the kitchen where I was busy writing. Holding a half-eaten yogurt tube, he shuffled over to the table, totally oblivious to the fact that Daddy was working and had a few things on his mind.
"Daddy," he said, "will you swing me?"
At first I didn't answer, my mind was too busy dividing its time between focusing on the project at hand and worrying about where all life's twists and turns might be taking me.
"Daddy, will you swing me?"
"Huh, what's that, Buddy?"
"I asked you if you will swing me?"
Feeling a bit frustrated by the interruption, I looked up from my laptop, removed my glasses, and was about to politely inform my son that Daddy was very busy and that I might have time to push him on the swing later. Only, when I glanced down to see my little man looking up at me with a ring of yogurt around his lips, something in me clicked. Despite all the work to be done and worries I could choose to dwell on, I knew in that instant that the absolute best thing I could do was get up from the table, give my son a hug, wipe the yogurt from his grinning mouth, and take fifteen minutes to push him on the swing.
And that's what I did. I made the work and worries wait. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining and the early fall breeze was blowing just enough to cause a few of the leaves above us to drift down from the multi-colored tree tops. My two older children were in school, so there was no one else there. It was just me and Carson.
With every "Higher, Daddy," that came from Caron's mouth, I pushed a little harder. I thoroughly enjoyed the morning with my son. We talked about all kinds of things. I tried to explain as best I could why birds fly, why dogs bark, and how come Mommy won't let Daddy talk whenever The Bachelor is on. Conversely, Carson explained to me why Iron Man is so cool, why he wants to be Lightning McQueen when he grows up, and why he thinks it should be socially acceptable to pee in one's pants if one is engaged in a fun activity and doesn't want to stop to use the bathroom.
After the swinging was over, I still had (or, should I say, made) a few minutes to spare. Carson and I walked around the yard, looking at leaves and bugs, kicking the soccer ball, and talking a bit more. All my attention was on my son. It was awesome taking a few moments to listen to what was on his little mind, talk to him about the simplest of things, and just connect with my little buddy.
When the fifteen minutes was over, we went inside. Carson gleefully returned to what he'd been doing, and I went back to my work. But my attitude was totally different. Instead of feeling stressed or anxious, I felt at peace and happy. The moments with my son reminded me that my life is going just fine. I'm married to the woman I love the most in the world. My children love me and are happy and healthy. And Meredith and I are about to fulfill our years-long dream to adopt. Sure there are some unknowns. Aren't there always? But, overall, my life is pretty awesome. Truth is, most of the time when I get anxious it isn't because of any actual problem. Rather, it's because I'm not trusting God enough to take care of me and my family--even though He's never failed to do so. (Go figure.)
I share this simple account simply to make this point: Life will always be hectic. You have to MAKE YOURSELF TAKE A BREAK! Slow down and spend some simple but meaningful time with your kids in the backyard. We run ourselves nuts, bouncing from job to home and to activity, after activity, after activity. Why? Because we're concerned about the future? Because that's the way our culture tells us parenthood is supposed to be done?
Yes, we need to be responsible, work hard, and do our best to provide for our kids' futures. But what about today? If we're waiting for the schedule to let up so that we can play with our kids or talk about why Iron Man is cool, then guess what--you're going to be waiting a long time. Maybe too long. Maybe so long that, by the time you decide you're ready to take a break and push your kid on the swing, you'll turn around to find that he or she has already grabbed the car keys and is out the door.
Slow it on down, guys. There's likely a little boy or girl looking up at you and saying, "Daddy, will you swing me?" He or she might not be saying those exact words. In fact, he or she may not even be asking the question audibly. Maybe they're asking it with their eyes. Maybe they're asking it with that picture they drew for you at preschool. Maybe they're asking it as they kick a football or play in the sandbox all by themselves, hoping Daddy will emerge for even just a few minutes to throw them a touchdown pass or assist them in building the world's greatest sand castle.
Yes, I've got a lot to do. I've got responsibilities that require me to work and market my business. I've got bills that need to be paid and financial concerns that sometimes weigh on me. But I've learned that I will always have responsibilities and things to be concerned about. I owe it to my kids--and myself--to put them aside for a few minutes every day so that I can play a quick game of baseball, push someone on the swing, or marvel at a trick one of my kids has been practicing just so they can show Daddy. If we're not careful, we parents might get so distracted by the fact that life is hectic, that we forget to enjoy the fact that life's pretty good too.
As a freelance writer, I'm constantly either engrossed in a project or immersed in the pursuit of the next available job. I don't have the security that comes with knowing an employer is depositing a paycheck every 2 weeks. Nope, I don't make any money until jobs are done. Oh, and did I mention that there are no jobs unless I go out and round 'em up? Given that my family has grown accustomed to eating, living in a house, and using electricity pretty much every day, you can imagine how much work and the pursuit thereof can--if left unchecked--totally dominate my schedule.
In addition, Meredith and I just learned last week that we have officially been approved to adopt twin boys from Ethiopia. They're 4 1/2 months old and handsome little guys (nice to know they'll fit right in). But with all the joy and excitement that comes with knowing our family is about to expand, there also comes additional worries about finances, the future, and how to be a dad to five children. At times, I'm tempted to feel overwhelmed. One minute I'm looking at my new sons' pictures and thinking, "This is SO cool!" The next I'm sitting on the corner of the bed, rubbing my temples and trying desperately to go to my "happy place."
Just the other day I experienced such an anxious moment. I was working from home, running late on a deadline and thinking about the huge check I was about to write for our adoptions. The instability of our finances and the uncertainty of our future combined with the demands of work almost left me paralyzed. "What's the use?" I thought. "I just can't do it all. There's no way."
That's when my 3-year-old, Carson, came wandering into the kitchen where I was busy writing. Holding a half-eaten yogurt tube, he shuffled over to the table, totally oblivious to the fact that Daddy was working and had a few things on his mind.
"Daddy," he said, "will you swing me?"
At first I didn't answer, my mind was too busy dividing its time between focusing on the project at hand and worrying about where all life's twists and turns might be taking me.
"Daddy, will you swing me?"
"Huh, what's that, Buddy?"
"I asked you if you will swing me?"
Feeling a bit frustrated by the interruption, I looked up from my laptop, removed my glasses, and was about to politely inform my son that Daddy was very busy and that I might have time to push him on the swing later. Only, when I glanced down to see my little man looking up at me with a ring of yogurt around his lips, something in me clicked. Despite all the work to be done and worries I could choose to dwell on, I knew in that instant that the absolute best thing I could do was get up from the table, give my son a hug, wipe the yogurt from his grinning mouth, and take fifteen minutes to push him on the swing.
And that's what I did. I made the work and worries wait. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining and the early fall breeze was blowing just enough to cause a few of the leaves above us to drift down from the multi-colored tree tops. My two older children were in school, so there was no one else there. It was just me and Carson.
With every "Higher, Daddy," that came from Caron's mouth, I pushed a little harder. I thoroughly enjoyed the morning with my son. We talked about all kinds of things. I tried to explain as best I could why birds fly, why dogs bark, and how come Mommy won't let Daddy talk whenever The Bachelor is on. Conversely, Carson explained to me why Iron Man is so cool, why he wants to be Lightning McQueen when he grows up, and why he thinks it should be socially acceptable to pee in one's pants if one is engaged in a fun activity and doesn't want to stop to use the bathroom.
After the swinging was over, I still had (or, should I say, made) a few minutes to spare. Carson and I walked around the yard, looking at leaves and bugs, kicking the soccer ball, and talking a bit more. All my attention was on my son. It was awesome taking a few moments to listen to what was on his little mind, talk to him about the simplest of things, and just connect with my little buddy.
When the fifteen minutes was over, we went inside. Carson gleefully returned to what he'd been doing, and I went back to my work. But my attitude was totally different. Instead of feeling stressed or anxious, I felt at peace and happy. The moments with my son reminded me that my life is going just fine. I'm married to the woman I love the most in the world. My children love me and are happy and healthy. And Meredith and I are about to fulfill our years-long dream to adopt. Sure there are some unknowns. Aren't there always? But, overall, my life is pretty awesome. Truth is, most of the time when I get anxious it isn't because of any actual problem. Rather, it's because I'm not trusting God enough to take care of me and my family--even though He's never failed to do so. (Go figure.)
I share this simple account simply to make this point: Life will always be hectic. You have to MAKE YOURSELF TAKE A BREAK! Slow down and spend some simple but meaningful time with your kids in the backyard. We run ourselves nuts, bouncing from job to home and to activity, after activity, after activity. Why? Because we're concerned about the future? Because that's the way our culture tells us parenthood is supposed to be done?
Yes, we need to be responsible, work hard, and do our best to provide for our kids' futures. But what about today? If we're waiting for the schedule to let up so that we can play with our kids or talk about why Iron Man is cool, then guess what--you're going to be waiting a long time. Maybe too long. Maybe so long that, by the time you decide you're ready to take a break and push your kid on the swing, you'll turn around to find that he or she has already grabbed the car keys and is out the door.
Slow it on down, guys. There's likely a little boy or girl looking up at you and saying, "Daddy, will you swing me?" He or she might not be saying those exact words. In fact, he or she may not even be asking the question audibly. Maybe they're asking it with their eyes. Maybe they're asking it with that picture they drew for you at preschool. Maybe they're asking it as they kick a football or play in the sandbox all by themselves, hoping Daddy will emerge for even just a few minutes to throw them a touchdown pass or assist them in building the world's greatest sand castle.
Yes, I've got a lot to do. I've got responsibilities that require me to work and market my business. I've got bills that need to be paid and financial concerns that sometimes weigh on me. But I've learned that I will always have responsibilities and things to be concerned about. I owe it to my kids--and myself--to put them aside for a few minutes every day so that I can play a quick game of baseball, push someone on the swing, or marvel at a trick one of my kids has been practicing just so they can show Daddy. If we're not careful, we parents might get so distracted by the fact that life is hectic, that we forget to enjoy the fact that life's pretty good too.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The Big V
In a couple of weeks, I'll turn 42 years old. I have a beautiful wife and three awesome kids. Add the fact that Meredith and I are currently in the process of adopting one (possibly two?) children from Ethiopia, and I will soon be the father of four.... possibly five. Yes, I said FIVE!! How can we afford it? Well, for starters we'll just have to draw straws to see who gets to go to college. Blue straw, you go to a state-supported university and pursue a career. Red straw, you learn to wait tables and say things like, "Thank you, please come again."
But seriously, given that our soon to expand family seems to be nearing completion (although with the Howards you never know), I finally had to acknowledge that the time had come for Kindred to take a huge step. Knowing that we would still want to have sex but not wanting to cast our own production of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Meredith and I decided that yours truly should get the Big V--a vasectomy! And so, last Friday morning, I dropped my daughter off at school and set off to the doctor's office to break ties with my little swimmers.
Why a vasectomy? Well, there's a few reasons. First and foremost, a vasectomy is a lot safer and offers a much easier recovery time for a man than other procedures offer for a woman. Plus, my wife has already experienced three miscarriages, carried three children to term, and undergone three C-sections; so any suggestion by me that she be the one to undergo surgery could very well have led to a physical assault and the implanting of a large object up one of my bodily cavities. Thus, I decided to do the considerate (and safer) thing; I agreed to the vasectomy.
Just in case you're wondering, vasectomies aren't fun. In fact, I'd put them right up there with that exhilarating prostate exam your doctor performs every time you go in for a check-up. You know, the one where your physician puts on a latex glove, douses his finger in petroleum jelly, then tells you to bend over and "try not to move." He then proceeds to ask you how your weekend was while going the wrong way up what God definitely intended to be a one way street. All the while you're trying not to sing like Julie Andrews and praying it will soon be over.
Anyway, my appointment started out easy enough. I filled out the normal paperwork, answered the normal questions, flashed my insurance card... all the usual stuff. Then, the doctor came in. He asked me a couple of questions to make sure I understood the permanency of what I was about to do. He then told me to disrobe from the waist down and promised he'd be back soon.
There I was, lying on the table, my little buddies left hanging. I felt like a sentence with dangling participles. Then, without a word, a nurse walked in carrying a tray of surgical instruments. She set down the tray, marched straight to the table, grabbed my special places, and began spraying them with something cold. "Whoa!" I thought,"How about a little conversation first, Honey. At least tell me if you like moonlit nights and walks on the beach." Then, once our 'first date' was over, the nurse told me to wait on the doctor who would be in shortly. (Like I was going anywhere.)
I then proceeded to lie on the table for over thirty minutes waiting on the doctor to arrive. At one point, a tiny Hispanic woman I'd never seen before walked in the room, looked right at my testicles and said, "I here to get cotton balls." She then rambled something off in Spanish while searching the cabinets above me. Looking for her supplies, she seemed totally undaunted by the fact that my little Taco Bells were jingling just a few feet away. Trying to play it cool, I just hummed something while wondering to myself where a guy goes to apply to get his dignity back.
Finally, the doctor arrived. Of course, thanks to modern medicine, I didn't feel any of the cutting. The tugging and squeezing, however, were another story. At one point, I thought the doctor was under the impression that he was rolling dice in Vegas. I kept expecting to hear him yell, "C'mon seven!" at any moment. A couple of times, my toes curled up so tight that they could have broken a drum stick in half.
Still, overall, the procedure went well and only took about ten minutes. No unusual side effects. On the up side, getting the Big V at least afforded me a built in excuse to lie on the couch all day Saturday watching college football. Sure I had to do it with a bag of ice on my balls, but hey, no scenario is perfect.
And so I've crossed over. Meredith and I have closed the door on having biological children. Any future kiddos will arrive via adoption. Yes, it was a big decision and one we didn't make lightly, but it was the right one for us. We've been blessed with beautiful children. But there's a whole world of kids out there who've already been born but are in desperate need of a loving family to claim them, love them, and call them their own. As we prepare for a soon-to-be-taken trip to Ethiopia, we realize that this isn't the end of our new parenting adventures. Nope, it's just a change in course.
But seriously, given that our soon to expand family seems to be nearing completion (although with the Howards you never know), I finally had to acknowledge that the time had come for Kindred to take a huge step. Knowing that we would still want to have sex but not wanting to cast our own production of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Meredith and I decided that yours truly should get the Big V--a vasectomy! And so, last Friday morning, I dropped my daughter off at school and set off to the doctor's office to break ties with my little swimmers.
Why a vasectomy? Well, there's a few reasons. First and foremost, a vasectomy is a lot safer and offers a much easier recovery time for a man than other procedures offer for a woman. Plus, my wife has already experienced three miscarriages, carried three children to term, and undergone three C-sections; so any suggestion by me that she be the one to undergo surgery could very well have led to a physical assault and the implanting of a large object up one of my bodily cavities. Thus, I decided to do the considerate (and safer) thing; I agreed to the vasectomy.
Just in case you're wondering, vasectomies aren't fun. In fact, I'd put them right up there with that exhilarating prostate exam your doctor performs every time you go in for a check-up. You know, the one where your physician puts on a latex glove, douses his finger in petroleum jelly, then tells you to bend over and "try not to move." He then proceeds to ask you how your weekend was while going the wrong way up what God definitely intended to be a one way street. All the while you're trying not to sing like Julie Andrews and praying it will soon be over.
Anyway, my appointment started out easy enough. I filled out the normal paperwork, answered the normal questions, flashed my insurance card... all the usual stuff. Then, the doctor came in. He asked me a couple of questions to make sure I understood the permanency of what I was about to do. He then told me to disrobe from the waist down and promised he'd be back soon.
There I was, lying on the table, my little buddies left hanging. I felt like a sentence with dangling participles. Then, without a word, a nurse walked in carrying a tray of surgical instruments. She set down the tray, marched straight to the table, grabbed my special places, and began spraying them with something cold. "Whoa!" I thought,"How about a little conversation first, Honey. At least tell me if you like moonlit nights and walks on the beach." Then, once our 'first date' was over, the nurse told me to wait on the doctor who would be in shortly. (Like I was going anywhere.)
I then proceeded to lie on the table for over thirty minutes waiting on the doctor to arrive. At one point, a tiny Hispanic woman I'd never seen before walked in the room, looked right at my testicles and said, "I here to get cotton balls." She then rambled something off in Spanish while searching the cabinets above me. Looking for her supplies, she seemed totally undaunted by the fact that my little Taco Bells were jingling just a few feet away. Trying to play it cool, I just hummed something while wondering to myself where a guy goes to apply to get his dignity back.
Finally, the doctor arrived. Of course, thanks to modern medicine, I didn't feel any of the cutting. The tugging and squeezing, however, were another story. At one point, I thought the doctor was under the impression that he was rolling dice in Vegas. I kept expecting to hear him yell, "C'mon seven!" at any moment. A couple of times, my toes curled up so tight that they could have broken a drum stick in half.
Still, overall, the procedure went well and only took about ten minutes. No unusual side effects. On the up side, getting the Big V at least afforded me a built in excuse to lie on the couch all day Saturday watching college football. Sure I had to do it with a bag of ice on my balls, but hey, no scenario is perfect.
And so I've crossed over. Meredith and I have closed the door on having biological children. Any future kiddos will arrive via adoption. Yes, it was a big decision and one we didn't make lightly, but it was the right one for us. We've been blessed with beautiful children. But there's a whole world of kids out there who've already been born but are in desperate need of a loving family to claim them, love them, and call them their own. As we prepare for a soon-to-be-taken trip to Ethiopia, we realize that this isn't the end of our new parenting adventures. Nope, it's just a change in course.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Some Assembly Required... Noooooooo!
It's been a while since my last dadlosophy; over a month in fact. My apologies to anyone who regularly reads my blog. I should have at least posted something to let you know what was going on.
The truth is, there's been a lot of activity in the Howard household over the last 6weeks. We've experienced sick kids, the start of a new school year, the arrival and departure of two foster children, a slew of deadlines for my writing business, and a wave of paperwork associated with our pending adoption from Ethiopia. In short, I've taken a few weeks off from writing Dadlosophies with one simple objective in mind: to maintain a shred of sanity.
But now I'm back! Yes, I can hear the sighs of relief and shouts of joy ringing across the blogisphere from the parental masses who wait anxiously every Monday for my words of wisdom. Okay, maybe not. But still, whether you care or not, I'm back on task and ready to share what I'm experiencing (and hopefully learning) as a modern-day dad.
The highlight of this past week was my son William's 5th birthday. Since William naturally gravitates towards sports, I decided to get him a basketball goal. You know the kind; one of those adjustable goals you can lower to seven feet so that five-foot-eleven white guys can dunk the ball as they show off their 4 inch vertical leap. Anyway, Meredith did her research and found a good one online. We ordered it and, fortunately, it arrived in plenty of time for William's big day.
There was just one problem. Like most products you order online, this basketball goal came in a box labeled with three words that typically strike feelings of dread or overconfidence into the hearts of dads like myself: SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED.
I'm not a natural assembler, so I definitely fall into the "dread" camp. Truth is, I have trouble putting a sandwich together without good instructions. I know that many dads are great at making things, assembling things, and fixing things. Not me. I take on building projects as a matter of necessity only. I find that my blood pressure, use of profanity, likelihood of throwing things, and tendency to threaten inanimate objects as if they were living beings, all increase significantly when I try to put things together. But, as a dad, you have little choice other than to occasionally construct things. Unless you've got enough money to buy everything pre-assembled or hire folks to do it for you, a young father quickly learns that it’s build or perish.
And so, I tackled putting together the basketball goal. Right away I knew I was in serious trouble. I emptied the box to find more bolts and screws than are normally kept in stock at your local Home Depot. It looked like R2 D2 had exploded in my garage. Remembering that you can only eat an elephant one bite at a time, I opened up the directions and got started. Only the directions didn't make much sense. The pictures weren't clear and the wording was slightly less understandable than the current U.S. tax code. Add the fact that I couldn't find half the tools I needed because they'd been commandeered by the children or my wife for purposes totally unrelated to their intended use, and you can imagine all the fun I was having.
As the evening progressed, my frustration grew more and more evident. Parts that wouldn't fit; steps I did wrong, then had to undo and redo; directions I couldn't understand; tools I didn't have... it was a regular fiesta. All that was missing was the tequila, a pinata, and a band of middle-aged Mexican guys doing their mariachi rendition of Olivia Newton John's "Let's Get Physical" to make the evening complete. (I would have settled for just the tequila.)
Despite my prayer to remain cool and in control, it wasn't long before curse words began to fill my mind and,eventually, my mouth. It started out mild; a few d-words, a couple of "hells." After about an hour, however, I had moved on to the more advanced levels of profanity. I'm ashamed to say it, but I'm pretty sure I broke the world's record for the number of F-bombs launched at a partially assembled basketball goal within a three-hour period. All the while, I continually threatened to hunt down and kill the manufacturer who thought it was a great idea to sell people a "some assembly required" basketball goal with 8,000 parts (most of which are smaller than your thumbnail and perfectly designed to roll away unnoticed while you're busy throwing your screw driver and yelling "Where the hell is the spring that looks like the one in the picture!")
Meanwhile, because it was definitely a two-person job, my wife had to help me once the kids were in bed. With every wrongly attached screw, misinterpreted reading of the instructions, and difficulty holding a backboard steady so that the next bolt could be tightened, the strain on our marriage increased exponentially. While Meredith grew tired of my profane outbursts and enraged tirades against a basketball goal that couldn't even hear me threaten it with physical harm, I became resentful of Meredith's correction and couldn't understand why she kept messing up by doing what I said instead of reading my mind and doing what I actually meant.
After hours of frustrated labor, marital friction, and enough cursing on my part to make Whoopi Goldberg uncomfortable, Meredith and I finally got William's goal put together. No, it wasn't my finest moment. I'm ashamed of many of the things I said and the way I acted. A dad needs to be more mature than that. Still, the work, struggles, and effort it took to put my son's basketball goal together were worth it. After all, when you're a dad, that's what you do. You do things you normally wouldn't do simply because you love your kids and you want them to have the best 5th birthday ever. Next time, however, I think I owe it to God and my wife to make sure I buy something already assembled. Then maybe I won't curse or have to wonder what all these extra parts are for.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
First Braves Game
A couple of Friday nights ago, I took my son, William, to his very first Atlanta Braves baseball game. William loves the Braves. At just shy of five years old, he's too young to know all the players or understand all the ins and outs of baseball. But he loves playing catch in the backyard or hitting a few "home runs" with his plastic bat whenever Dad pitches him a few. All summer he'd been asking, "Dad, will you take me to a Braves game?" So, about a month ago, I called William into my office, sat him on my lap in front of the computer, and, together, we ordered tickets online for a Friday night game.
Part of me had reservations about going to a night game. I knew how badly it would mess up William's bedtime routine. One thing you learn as a parent: Don't screw with routines! Today's missed bedtime is tomorrow's emotional meltdown. Still, despite the risk, I elected to get tickets to an evening game. I wanted no part of sitting outside at Turner Field on a ninety-degree day. Atlanta summers are brutal. Satan himself won't visit Georgia in the summer time. Charlie Daniels doesn't bother to tell us what month the Devil actually went down to Georgia, but I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul that it wasn't in August. And so, I rolled the dice and bought tickets for a Friday night.
I've never been a huge Braves fan. In fact, I'm not a big baseball fan, period. I'm more of a football and college basketball kind of guy. But I knew it would be great to go to a Major League game with my kid. After all, what dad doesn't live to take his son (or daughter) to the ballpark, buy him (or her) a hot dog and a Coke, and then sit back and enjoy as the two of them watch the hometown team play baseball?
The night before the game, I ran by Wal-Mart and bought William a Braves hat. I could have waited and bought it at the game, but given that my son is too young to care, I decided I'd rather pay $7 than take out a second mortgage to pay stadium prices. I did, however, buy William his first Braves shirt at the game. After searching the racks to find something small enough to fit, we finally found a Brian McCann jersey that didn't totally engulf him. Donning his new Braves apparel, William strutted proudly alongside me as we made our way from the souvenir store to our seats along the first base line.
Unfortunately, there was a rain delay. Then, once the skies cleared, the Braves held a 1/2 hour ceremony to retire Tom Glavine's jersey. The first pitch wasn't thrown until after 9:30pm. Despite the rain and late start, William and I made the most of the down time. We ate pizza and hot dogs. I pointed out to William different features on the field and explained to him the significance of the retired jersey numbers that hung across the way. I also tried to answer some of his deeper questions like, "Why do catchers wear their hats backwards?" and "What do baseball players do when they have to poop during the game?"
Eventually, the game got under way. We lasted into the bottom of the 5th inning before William finally fessed up that he was tired and ready to go. We left with the Braves and Giants tied 1-1 and the vast majority of what appeared to be a sold out crowd still sitting in their seats, waiting to see how the game would turn out.
As we walked back to our car, the streets much less hectic than they were a few hours before, William reached up, took my hand, and said, "Thank you, Daddy, for taking me to the Braves game."
"You're welcome, Bud," I answered.
Once in our car, we listened to the game on the radio and recapped the best parts of the evening as we made the 45 minute trek back to Powder Springs. To my surprise, William DID NOT fall asleep on the ride home. I guess he was just too pumped. When we got to the house, Meredith walked out to meet us in the driveway. Although it was fast approaching midnight, she refused to go to bed without letting William have the chance to tell her all about his first Braves game.
Eagerly, William ran to his mother to display his new Brian McCann jersey. "See, Mom," he said, "I'm the Braves' catcher." Seeing William so happy and proud, Meredith couldn't help but get a little emotional. Her eyes actually teared up (much like mine did when I discovered that beers at the ballpark costs over $6). For the next fifteen minutes, Meredith and I sat in the kitchen and listened while William told his Mom all about the rain, the view from our seats, Chipper Jones hitting the ball, and how William, himself, is going to be an Atlanta Braves baseball player when he grows up. Then, it was off to bed.
As I helped William pull his sheets back and climb into bed, my son looked up at me and asked, "Daddy,can I sleep in my Braves shirt?"
"Sure, Sport," I answered. Then, taking William's Braves hat and placing it on his dresser next to the now used tickets, I tucked "Brian McCann" into bed, kissed my little baseball player on the forehead, and told him "Goodnight."
"Sleep, well, Bud," I said. Then, I turned to leave the room. Turning out the light I heard a small, tired voice say, "Daddy, can we go to another Braves game one day?"
"Sure, Son," I said, "We'll definitely go again."
"Good," William said, "I like going to Braves games with you."
"I like going with you too, Sport."
And, with that, I closed the door and we called it an evening--our first Daddy-William baseball game in the books. Unfortunately, we discovered the next day that Atlanta had lost to San Francisco 3-2 in extra innings. But that's okay. It was still my son's first Braves game. It's a night I'll always remember. I hope he'll always remember it too. And, who knows, maybe the next time we go, the Braves will win, the rain won't fall, we'll finally know what baseball players do when they have to poop during a game, and I'll be more emotionally prepared to pay over six bucks for a ballpark beer.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Let the Little Children Come (Just Don't Put 'em on the Front Row)
According to the Bible, there was an episode in which the disciples tried to prevent a group of little children from reaching Jesus. The scriptures say that Jesus rebuked the disciples, telling them to "let the little children come to me and do not hinder them."
Yesterday, as I sat in church with my wife and kids, it occurred to me why Jesus wasn't afraid to let the little children approach him. It's because Jesus had the power to cast out demons and banish them to hell. I, unfortunately, do not. Thus, unlike the Lord, I find it rather challenging to maintain a spiritual focus, resist sin, and stay close to God while being climbed on, clinged to, cried to, and screamed at by "unhindered" little folk who, based on every biblical description I've ever read, show all the signs of being possessed by spirits bent on destroying a father's righteousness.
How else do you explain the fact that I can read my Bible, pray, and feel enthusiastic about trying to live as a disciple of Christ first thing in the morning, only to find myself mumbling curse words and losing my patience before the clock even strikes noon. Jesus maintained his sinlessness after forty days in the wilderness being tempted by Satan. I can't even make it through one breakfast during summer vacation.
Church, itself, is always an interesting adventure. Take, for instance, yesterday's worship. We got to church shortly after the service had started. By the time we arrived, the only seats left were on the front row. Just a heads up to anyone who serves as an usher at their church. If you're looking for a way to totally disrupt your church service and mess with whoever is speaking from the pulpit, make sure you reserve the front row for couples with four kids under the age of seven. Few things "encourage" a public speaker more than the sight of a four-year-old picking his nose or the sound of a tiny voice screaming, "My toy! My toy! My toy!" as one tries to welcome the congregation or help people commune with God in prayer.
Then, there's always the fun the song leader has as he attempts to lead the singing of "Blessed Assurance" while cheerios fly from the front seats. If you look closely you can see the beads of sweat forming on the poor, insecure soul's forehead as he mistakes the flying cereal of a toddler for the cruel heckling of some dissatisfied parishioner.
Perhaps the most fun was yesterday's Communion. As the young man doing the Communion message stepped to the mic to share thoughts intended to focus our hearts and minds on the sacrifice of our Lord, I tried to separate and scold arguing siblings as subtly as possible. While a more spiritual man than I was reminding the church of Christ's grace and forgiveness, I was preaching Old Testament to my kids, assuring them of the wrath and judgment to come if they didn't quit arguing, complaining, and pulling on one another's hair.
To my children's credit, they pulled it together--at least as much as kids that age can. After all, let's face it, while Communion is important and very meaningful to an adult Christian, it's basically a confusing snack time to small children. As a parent, I do my best to explain that Communion is when we symbolically partake of the body and blood of Jesus. But kids often don't get it. Once, when my son, William, saw how small the crackers and servings of juice were, he looked at me disappointed and said, "Jesus must have been really small."
Eventually, the length and the structure of the Communion service was too much for my three youngest. Despite their best efforts, the "demons" began to return, so I exited with them as unnoticed as I could into the foyer before the "bread and wine" were actually served.
Once out of the room, my boys and their little sister began running crazy, my calls of "Calm down!" going unheeded as rambunctious little gremlins zigged and zagged in and out of tables set with food for the post-service potluck lunch . Envisioning the lasagnas and chocolate cakes that would soon be on the floor if I didn't do something, I chased down my little ones while four-letter words that weren't "Amen" raced through my sinful mind. (Hey, I'm just being honest.) Then, finally cornering my kids at one end of the room, I maneuvered back and forth like a soccer goalie at the World Cup, preventing anyone under four feet tall from scooting past me until Communion was over and it was finally time for Sunday School.
In short, Church is not a relaxing, meditative, or reflective time when you have small kids. In fact, at times, you're tempted to wonder if it's counter-productive. The effort and stress of getting four kids fed, teeth-brushed, dressed, and out the door, combined with the energy and anxiety involved in trying to keep them in check during the actual service, often means that, by the time the sermon starts and my kids are in class, my heart and mind are actually filled with ten times more sin than when I woke up that morning. At the very least, it's enough to make me wish we served real wine during the Lord's Supper.
Still, I think church is worth it. It allows my wife and I to fellowship with friends and other parents like ourselves. It provides a place where we can get much appreciated help raising our children to know about and love God. Most of all, it's a family--God's family. We don't go and participate because it's easy or convenient (it's not). We also don't participate because of what the church can do for us or our family (although we do benefit, we occasionally get hurt too). No, we go because it's a place where God wants us to give. Just like I desire my kids to want to be around one another and show kindness and love to each other, God wants his children to do the same. The purpose of church is to go and serve others, encourage others, and be available to others. In a crazy way, even our struggles as parents help serve the church. For all I know, some other young couple with kids witnessed the madness we were dealing with yesterday and thought, "You know what, if they can do it, then we can too."
So we'll keep going to church. I'll keep trying to be more spiritual. We'll do our best to hold it together during Communion. And--God willing--the ushers won't put us on the front row.
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